


Tick

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 07:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto’s finally ready to meet his ‘best friend.’





	Tick

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “a kiss... because yours is running out of time” prompt on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/176075204220/prompt-list). Noctis’ POV version is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15456120). Special thanks to hollyandvice for the idea!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Now that most of them are well into puberty, their clocks are coming in like wildfire. Homeroom is an explosion of ticking numbers—almost half the class will meet their soulmates within the hour. It’s all the teacher can do to keep them focused on the board. Furtive glances are thrown everywhere. It’s unlikely they’ll all match up with members of the same class, but as soon as the rest of the school pours into the hallways, everything’s going to be chaos. No one tells Prompto if there’s a timer floating above his head. Everyone’s too busy with their clustered groups of friends and, of course, their prince.

Just like everyone else, Prompto looked. He tried to be subtle about it, while others just flat out stare, practically willing Prince Noctis to show a clock. But the space above his head is empty, and he ignores all his on-lookers. There’s still a chance that his timer will come in with just five seconds to go, or something equally unpredictable, leaving no chance for a storm of suitors to contrive a forced setup. Prompto tries not to speculate too much about it. It doesn’t matter. He never presumed to have any kind of chance at that, but he still has his own plan, the one from when they were children too young to worry about binding souls. He just wanted to _meet_ Prince Noctis, just wanted to have a _friend_ , and he told himself all summer that this will be the year he finally does it.

The first few classes go by in a blur—he’s so caught up in anxiety and anticipation that he barely takes in a word. Thankfully, most of the classes are slow starting, the teachers just setting them up for the upcoming semester. There’s clearly no point in heavy-duty lessons anyway—everyone’s too restless over soul-clocks to care about trigonometry or what country conquered where. A lot of people keep whispering to their friends or passing notes about who they think they’ll be with or how they want their first ‘official’ meeting to go. Prompto’s not much better. He’s going to _try_ to approach Noctis, assuming Noctis isn’t at the center of the mob, and he’s going to say something stupid but innocuous like ‘ _hi_.’ And Noctis won’t say anything about him being too heavy. He worked damn hard to be almost as fit as Noctis is, and he’s going to use all of that confidence and just be... _cool_. 

Prompto knows he’ll never be cool. But he’s determined and desperate and he’s not going to let himself back down. He counts down the minutes on the clock behind the teacher’s desk, not the ones floating above his peers. He’ll have to do it after school. He was too much of a mess before class, and he couldn’t find Noctis at lunch. He just _has_ to. 

Then the last bell finally rings, and everyone leaks out into the corridors. Prompto squeezes pats them, not even bothering to find his locker. He keeps his books in the heavy bag at his side—he’s used to jogging with weights. He pushes through the crowds, scanning the sea of uniforms, and finally winds out into the grounds.

Last year, Noctis was always at the back, waiting for his limo. This year probably won’t be any different. Prompto weaves behind the main building, away from the busy chatter of his classmates, and off into the winding paths of the potted greenery and old P.E. equipment.

He finally spots Noctis at the end of a paved courtyard, leaning against the flagpole and looking around. When his gaze turns to Prompto, Prompto’s heart nearly stops.

There’s a number above Noctis’ head: a glowing black _eight_ that swiftly ticks down to _seven_. It’s only one digit. It’s counting _seconds_.

Somehow, Prompto keeps moving. He makes his legs work by sheer force of will. He’s thought of this for _years_ and tries to focus on that: the possibility of a _friend_ , one who often looks every bit as lonely as him but so much _cooler_. And more serene, more stable, confident and never worried—all the things that Prompto wants to be. And _hot_ , too. Noctis was a cute kid, but he’s growing handsome _fast_.

And his timer ticks down with every step that Prompto takes. Noctis starts to walk forward to, straight towards him, practically staring him down. Prompto pauses just long enough to glance around, but there’s no one else. Just the two of them. They keep going, and then they’re in each other’s space—Prompto’s shoe bumps into Noctis’, and he opens his mouth, ready to say... something.

He doesn’t have anything. The timer hits zero and lights up like a firework. Prompto can barely breathe.

He leans forward without thinking, and Noctis meets him halfway—they share a short, tentative kiss that’s not at all what Prompto planned. He jerks back afterwards, blushing hot and already spluttering, “Sorry! I didn’t—I don’t know what—” 

But Noctis just grins, cool as a cucumber. He holds out his hand and smoothly says, “Noctis Lucis Caelum. ...Nice to finally meet you.”


End file.
